Diplopia
by piratesmiley
Summary: P/O. "For now he just wanted to think about something other than his situation and his crazy father. Coincidentally, that’s when the eerily familiar woman looked up from the other side of reality."
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Oh, how I've slaved over this monster of a fic. Enjoy part one.

Spoilers: The second half of the season, at least. Just go watch the whole season, okay? Then come back. This could get a little sticky.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fringe. Sad, isn't it?

* * *

Because they could now control the opening into the other reality, Walter wanted to do extensive testing on and around it. And because Olivia's rabid curiosity enabled Walter's every whim, the younger Bishop was caused a whole lot of grief.

This chain of events was tied inextricably and locked in like the law, but Peter refrained from complaining, and observed silently instead. Watching Walter un-stopper the hole was a sight to see, all earth-shaking and shimmers, although Peter particularly enjoyed watching Olivia's eyes widen, pure shock and awe, every time.

-

Walter's warning of, "we have not half an hour, if we don't die first" didn't really worry Olivia, but she probably shouldn't have laughed. She was met with two pairs of matching grave eyes, probably thinking she was crazy.

_Crazy_ didn't mean much to them anymore, though. And besides, she was used to it. She had to be used to it. There wasn't much of a front she could keep up with these two.

-

Olivia crouched down next to Walter, who was waving around a Geiger counter and something else self-made that Peter didn't want to know anything about, muttering about all the research that had to be redone because of that damn mental institution and their ways to make him forget. Peter walked a few steps away, wanting to forget himself for just a moment, to get lost a bit in the quiet of being alone.

He'd never had to miss it before; playing Lone Ranger was his default setting.

For now he just wanted to think about something other than his situation and his crazy father. Coincidentally, that's when the eerily familiar woman looked up from the other side of reality.

He grappled for words for a split second before breathing out her name. "Liv!"

Both women looked up into each other's eyes.

-

It was peculiar, because it should have been like looking into a mirror, but it was actually nothing like that at all. Probably because although Olivia was stunned, her counterpart wasn't particularly surprised or concerned that she was looking in on herself. While Olivia grappled with the visual, the woman's eyes flickered back to the man who'd spoken her name.

"Peter," she breathed, she smiled. Her face lit up in a way that worried Olivia. The woman moved forward like she wanted to break the barrier, but she sighed and pulled back her hand back, rethinking the automatic notion. Instead, she tilted her head and spoke. "Are you coming home now?"

"_What_?" Olivia didn't mean to let it pop out—this obviously wasn't about her—or for it to be underlined with a snort reeking of _are you insane?_ but the woman heard it and grimaced.

-

Peter thought he had _been_ home, for a year now. He had been busy thinking it over just a minute ago. It seemed this world wanted nothing but to confuse him. And Olivia's exclamation had done nothing to help, just served to make him wonder more.

Other-Olivia started to explain herself, but was interrupted by some loud laughter from Walter, who Peter had completely forgotten about in the last sixty seconds (he got his wish).

"Son! Come look what I've found!"

"Come here, Walter," he called, not taking his eyes off the other reality's open. Both Olivias waited patiently for Walter to amble over and freeze at the sight of the double.

The unknown woman's tone was icy and unforgiving. "Hello, Walter."

Walter looked saddened, ashamed, guilty. All things Peter had never seen on his face before. "Hello, Olivia."

-

"Walter, you know her?" Olivia asked, and yes, it's _her_ because Olivia felt no connection to this woman at all. Looks were just looks and that was that.

Walter ignored her question, keeping his eyes on the ground. The woman spoke again.

"Are you going to give him back now?" She was adamant, irate, to be feared and never ignored. At least, that's what it had seemed like to Olivia, and Walter seemed to feel it too.

"I can't," the old man whispered.

"He's ours; you_ stole_ him." Her voice cracked, and Olivia didn't understand why she was so upset. This other version of herself was obviously untethered—unfortunate, yes, but not _their_ problem, certainly not Peter's.

But Olivia too lost all rational thought when John Scott popped into her line of vision.

-

Peter was floored, but still had the good sense to tell Olivia, "Yes, I see him too," under his breath.

Other-Olivia clasped John's arm. "Look, it's Peter!" But this man didn't seem quite so enthused.

"Peter," he greeted, eyes reserved.

"Hi," Peter said uncertainly, and he saw it all, clear as day. John wanted Olivia, who wanted Peter, who wanted his own Olivia, who wanted any John.

How the _hell_ did he get himself into this mess? Calamity loved him.

"I think we should go," Olivia snapped out of her John-staring reverie and turned to Peter. He could sense her panic; he could feel her wanting to flee. _Join the club_.

"No!" The woman burst out. She tried to calm: "You can't go yet. Please?"

Peter wasn't sure what frightened him more—that this Olivia-like body seemed to know him, like him, want _him_, or that he was starting to give in to her just like he constantly surrendered to his own Agent Dunham.

-

And Olivia could see it working, too.

Look, Olivia wasn't blind, stupid, or in denial. She knew that she and Peter had a slight, burgeoning _thing_, more on his end than hers (not that that was her fault). Olivia knew Peter liked her, and now she knew he was curious as to what this other woman could offer.

It was another her. Another her that so clearly wanted him.

Yes, they needed to leave now.

"The portal will be closing soon. There isn't much time," Walter agreed somberly.

The woman turned icy again: "Of course _you_ think so." She looked at Peter again, hungry, desperate. "Come back with us for a little while."

-

It wasn't an offer, but a plea, and Peter wasn't sure he could refuse.

"We'll bring him back soon, I promise," she said to Olivia, trying to make her understand just by the expression on her face, hoping for some empathy. But she got none.

"You're lying." And now Peter's Olivia was frozen cold as well. Again, he didn't understand her.

"You would too if you knew what I know!" She was shrill, she could see the barriers quivering in preparation for closure, and she wanted none of that. She was panicking.

"So tell us!" And Olivia became desperate too. "Tell us what you know." Peter knew that Olivia just made this bigger than them; this was now Pattern-related, and it swallowed them whole. Olivia's quest for stars and answers was everlasting; Peter respected it and resented it, at the same time, if possible, but he'd never stop her.

She shook her head and dug around in her pockets before finding a crumpled, neon-pink Post-it. She rolled it into a ball and tossed it in one side and out the other. Peter swiped it, and unfurled it. An address.

Just as the hole was half-way done resealing, a tear rolled down her cheek. "Every day, Peter. Every day, I miss you."

The other side disappeared, and quiet settled as something in the back of his mind shouted back to her _I miss you too._

Walter had some explaining to do.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry for the wait! Enjoy.

* * *

They rode back in silence.

Upon returning, the expressions on their faces startled Astrid to the core. They refused to explain, telling her simply that she could head home for the night. This wouldn't concern anybody outside of themselves until absolutely necessary.

Walter automatically started tinkering with one of his projects, trying to disguise himself in insanity. Peter saw through that. He and Olivia stood across from him, two against one.

"How do you know her, Walter?" Olivia started, but that wasn't the question Peter was concerned with.

"How does she know _me_?"

Walter, somewhere in his vast and damaged brain, must have realized that he couldn't get around the truth anymore. He couldn't circumvent suspicion.

"She caught me. She caught me taking you away."

And the hits just kept coming.

-

Peter wasn't even that mad that he wasn't from this reality. Lately he could believe just about anything. And, it was quite a relief to know that Walter wasn't technically his father. He might actually end up being okay with the guy. He wasn't upset about being kidnapped, either, although how he didn't notice crossing the _border of time and space, _Peter didn't know. Nor was he concerned that he was technically dead. No, what he was mad about was that he had been duped. He, the master con, had been tricked by his mental father for the majority of his life. That was quite a blow to the ego.

Olivia, on the other hand, seemed to be taking it all in stride. But she was _Olivia_; she never gave anything away.

"What about the other woman?" She asked. "She saw you taking Peter?"

Walter nodded solemnly. "You two were close friends, since birth apparently. You both were in the trials together; she was your partner. Apparently you two were having a sleepover when I came."

"Wait—back up. The _trials_?" Peter tensed again. He should have guessed.

"The Cortexiphan trials?" Olivia checked, and now even she was visibly floored.

Walter hesitated. "Yes."

"I was treated with Cortexiphan?"

"Yes."

"You didn't think to mention that before?!"

"I didn't?"

And Peter's anger evaporated against its own will. Yelling at him wasn't going to make anything better. But coming to terms with the fact that he had a super-power-esque baby drug in his system—not to mention accepting the countless side-effects to come of it—was going to be extremely difficult.

So he decided. "I have to go talk to her."

-

Olivia frowned.

She didn't trust this woman with the lie so plain on her face. She didn't trust the obsession, and she didn't want Peter in there alone with her. Not that she didn't think Peter could take of himself; he'd obviously been doing that for a lot longer than one person should. But regardless, it wasn't safe. She wasn't going to jeopardize any ally.

She needed Peter.

"You can't go by yourself."

"We can't tell your people," he countered, but she was surprised this was his first excuse.

"Why not?"

"They'll insist on coming along, and scare her off."

That was flimsy; Olivia could see even he thought so. But if he wanted to do this quietly, okay. They didn't have to follow protocol. He never did anyway.

"Fine. But if we get caught I'm telling them you kidnapped me."

With a smile she stalked out at top speed, leaving him grinning and shaking his head in her wake.

-

They were all stealth, a pair of shadows in the night. A pair of hearts, but also, a pair of spades. A king and queen.

Okay, maybe Peter should have opted to cross over after a good night's sleep, because he was getting ridiculous and metaphorical, an embarrassing habit that occasionally plagued him when running on little more than caffeine fumes. Not that he'd willingly give Olivia that information. She'd love to use that to her advantage.

Currently she was pacing, glaring at him every few minutes, stamping her feet a little. "What's taking so long?" Her hunger for time saved was insatiable, but it was quite a bit of work, re-ripping a hole in the space-time continuum.

Peter just rolled his eyes. "Patience, Dunham."

She leaned in close to watch him work. After a moment, he looked over.

An inch apart. He waited expectantly.

She turned away.

Yeah, that's what he thought.

Finally, the job was done, and yes he watched her go starry-eyed at the sight. That is, until she grinned, grabbed his arm and shoved him through.

-

She expected some sort of cosmic _feeling_ to go off in her body when she crossed over, but it was like walking through air. No pain, no shivers, no fuss. She realized that she really shouldn't be making guesses and expectations, when they all were going to be way off anyway.

Everything seemed to be taking place to spite her. She supposed it was good to know – in a weird, convoluted way – that Peter was suffering too.

She reached out as they made their way through the forest. "Are you angry with Walter?"

She watched him clutch the pink note tighter. "Not any more than usual."

He used his jaded voice on her, the same one he had affected on that first day in Iraq. She hated that, but didn't comment. They trudged farther through the forest.

-

It seemed the worlds were mirror images, because the train system was right where he assumed it would be. They took their seats in the far back and huddled close. The engine whistled and propelled them forward, but their voices were still.

They had rolled half-way into the city before Olivia opened her mouth. "What are you going to ask her?"

He sighed. "I don't honestly know. I mean, I don't know what to say." He was grasping at straws, looking into her eyes for the answers. All that was reflected were more questions.

Suddenly their roles were reversed: he needed her comfort and she had to play along, even if she was self-conscious, even if she wasn't as good at it as he.

Olivia waited for him to look away before she took Peter's hand in hers. He didn't let go until they arrived.

-

The address she had given turned out to be an old warehouse a few blocks south of the train station. She had made this exceedingly easy; it felt more and more like a trap, but they walked in the open door anyway.

At first they went unnoticed. A whole team of Others was circled around a cadaver: Astrid, with her hands in the dead man's chest; Charlie, scar on his face, looking disgusted; Broyles, looking stoic as ever, watching John and Olivia argue loudly.

The two outsiders walked closer.

"Face it — he's not coming. _They're not coming_. I told you, you're wasting your life on this."

"I'm not wasting anything! They're going to save us one day. And they _are_ coming. They saw it happen, they told me so."

"What, you think just because you're buddy-buddy with the faulty Seer Squad their predictions will suddenly come true?"

"Oh,_ please_—"

"Guys?" Astrid inserted.

"—you think you're better than them, but you have _no idea_—"

"Olivia!" Astrid yelled. When she finally gained attention, she let the ball drop. "They're here."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Per Zaedah's frantic request, I present with you chapter three, in effort to make her lungs keep working. Prepare for a cliffy. Sorry, folks.

* * *

The first thing Other-Olivia did was drop the file folder she had been threatening John with and run over to hug Peter. She seemed to sag in his arms, and he couldn't do much else but hold on to her.

The voice in the back of his head told him _don't let go_, but he ignored it.

Then, overjoyed and slightly flustered, she grabbed Olivia and hugged her quickly, awkwardly, as well. "_See_, I told you they'd come," she gloated to the group behind her. "Are you ready?" she asked Peter.

With a glance to Olivia he replied, "Ready for what?"

"The procedure. Follow me."

-

She led them to the other side of the expansive room, to a gurney. "Hop on."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa: wait a second. What are we doing here?" Peter asked. He felt Olivia's hand squeeze his arm, conveying her confusion.

Other-Olivia sighed. "How much do you two know about the Cortexiphan trials?"

"Virtually nothing," Olivia answered.

"Well, Massive Dynamic has ever-so-generously given us a counteragent to the repressors given to us as kids. I can give it to you, because you were born and treated here," she said to Peter. She turned to Olivia. The hint of stiffness and resentment was _almost_ imperceptible. "Unless your mad scientist can make you a reactivation drug, they'll try and take you and reactivate you themselves." She looked down. "Don't let them. They lie." She took a deep breath and looked back up at them. "You have to make Walter try."

They two nodded gravely.

Other-Olivia gestured toward the gurney again, and Peter moved toward it. Olivia realized she was still holding on to him and jumped back awkwardly. The flush in her cheeks didn't escape his notice.

-

They made careful conversation while Other-Olivia set up the IV.

Olivia went first. "All of them were treated with Cortexiphan?" she asked.

"With the exception of Broyles, yes."

"What about Astrid?" Peter interjected.

"What about her?"

"She's much younger than us. If William Bell abandoned his research a few years after starting, then…"

"Somebody continued administering the drug after he was gone," Olivia finished.

The two outsiders shared a look of dismay.

"Okay," Other-Olivia said, bring over a silver tray. She held up a large needle. "This is a mild sedative, for the pain."

"Pain?"

She sighed. "The drugs…when you're first reactivated, you're going to be completely overwhelmed. You especially. Your ability is very unique; you're going to feel everything all at once and I…I just…I mean, I set somebody _on fire_, when they gave it to me. _Literally_. I can't let that kind of thing happen…" She struggled for the words.

"You're hoping the sedative will knock me out before I have to feel it start."

She nodded slowly. "Yes."

Olivia looked away, feeling strangely possessive, like maybe coming here was a bad idea.

But Peter nodded his consent, and the Other continued, pressing the plunger in administration. "The red pill will bring the memories back. It's going to seem strange; because we were given the drug at such a young age, you'll have clear memories from about eight months. They'll come back gradually, but the latest ones will come back first, and fast." She paused a moment before continuing. "The blue pill will bring back your ability."

"How?" Olivia challenged.

"Whatever mental bind is on the brain will deteriorate with help from the pill. It happens very quickly, almost instantaneously."

Peter's eyes fluttered as the sedative kicked in.

"Are you ready?" Other-Olivia asked gravely.

He nodded. She grimaced and turned around.

"Is he supposed to take them together or separate?" she asked the crowd. She got back a chorus of different answers that made her eyes widen. "Oh, come on. Which is it?!"

"It's the red, then the blue," said Astrid.

"No, I took it blue, then red, I thought," said Olivia.

"You take them both together," said Broyles.

"I think he's right," Charlie agreed.

"No, I think Astrid's right: blue, then red," John offered.

"No, that's what _I_ said," Olivia sighed. She gave the two worried entities a wary smile and excused herself to ask a medical expert.

Peter and Olivia looked at each other while the Other Team bickered. He could see her growing more and more panicked until final she spoke.

"See, this is the point where you'd say, 'this is insane, Olivia,' and tell me not to do it."

Her apprehension was stifling and beautiful in a messed up way, but he still managed to joke with her. "And this is the point where you'd ignore me and do it anyway." She smiled. "You do a pretty good impression of me, by the way." She laughed, but it was false and high.

She took his hand. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"It has to be done."

She stared for a moment. "No, it doesn't. We could leave."

"You need your answers."

She fought back tears.

-

Other-Olivia eventually got an answer: red, then blue. Peter swallowed them easily, and the room was silent for eight seconds before he convulsed from the pain of fireworks behind his eyes.

Really it was an abundance of photographs, a myriad of memories so vast and forceful his head started to throb extremely. Home video-like quality of his little Olivia as best friend, his father, his mother, the other children, and Bell, all ran in a loop in his head until he was dizzy – motion sickness. His stomach rolled.

And then, a second later, he felt. Every emotion in the world wanted a piece of him, any piece the greedy bastards could get their hands on. They rifled savagely though his memories, his thoughts, old and new; his organs and tissues and cells and skin all felt everything, all the time. Love, hate, happiness, despair, anger, apathy. All until it receded to a fine, sharp circle, and he spun softly and madly out of consciousness.

-

"What's _happening_?!" Olivia shrieked, watching her friend seize and shudder and shake.

"I don't _know_!" her counterpart shrieked back. They're matching tones would have been comical if the situation wasn't so dire.

Instantly the Others moved around them, holding him down while Astrid stuck him in the neck as a last effort.

An EKG Olivia hadn't noticed before flat-lined. It took her a moment to realize who it was hooked up to.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Enjoy. :)

* * *

Neither of the two considered giving up an option. The paddles were put to good use, coaxing his heart into a beat, and another.

Either version of Olivia Dunham could easily say that she loved Peter Bishop in that moment. Olivia sagged in a chair, head in her hands; her copy inspected the syringe.

"Astrid, did you prepare this sedative?"

The junior agent shook her head. "No, I didn't."

Upon hearing this, Olivia looked up and scanned the faces for a guilty verdict, ready to give the death sentence. She looked at it this way: they had come all this way, against they're better judgment, against safety. They had come here and trusted _her_ and _them_ and now Peter was unconscious and she didn't know why. Somebody beside her needed to suffer.

John Scott, unfortunately for him, had guilty written all over his face. Maybe the years of relationship actually did amount to something, because although this was not her John, it was a John-like figure – a twin. So she aptly served him a much deserved blow to the head.

It didn't take long for Other-Olivia to figure out what she was doing and why; her eyes brightened frighteningly, which signaled Astrid just quick enough to pull Olivia out of attack mode.

The traitor went up in flames in two seconds. Three seconds later, Olivia broke. "You have to stop!" It was killing her; it was ripping her apart, even though she thought he didn't have that right anymore. "We need him. We don't know what he gave Peter – we _need_ him," she pleaded. The flames stopped.

-

The ambulance came and went. Olivia felt a little numb, so she spent that time watching Peter and reveling in the fact that she wasn't as strong as she thought.

She was finally catching on to what Peter had realized one day ago: there were four, and they all wanted something intensely that they just couldn't have. Fate, life, God wouldn't allow it. Maybe they were misguided, or maybe this was just a trial to overcome, but right now their situation seemed like an impenetrable force against each of them.

They were in shambles, and this shabby set-up wasn't working out anymore.

There was an Olivia stationed on either side of Peter's bed, both in horrible reverie.

Other-Olivia had never used her powers like that before. She had never so quickly been able to start, and it had never been so hard to stop. The hatred, pure and unadulterated, had taken over for just a moment more than she could stand.

But funnily enough, that wasn't what frightened her most.

-

"We have to get Walter here," Olivia decided. She cleared her mind-haze and transitioned into a professional. "Walter can figure out what's in his system."

"I don't trust him."

"But _I_ do. Can't that be good enough for you?" She felt the heat of her anger searing the connection between them.

"Not at this moment, no," Other-Olivia shot back, just as fiercely.

"I also need to tell Broyles; I need to tell him what I did. It'll be morning soon." Other-Broyles looked up, but Olivia disregarded him.

She remembered instead her teasing, how she'd said she would blame Peter if something went wrong. She felt awful now; _nothing_ was his fault. He had always been the one trying to keep her safe.

"I have to go." But she didn't want to. After this little _experience_, she didn't want to leave him alone. But she had no other choice.

Her twin saw that; feeling bad, she made a sacrifice. "I can go." Olivia looked at her, curious. "I can bring…Walter here. I can talk to Broyles."

Olivia acknowledged what she was doing. It was sweet, and thankfulness seeped out of her as she nodded her consent.

-

It was a crappy fairytale story. The queen, saddened and fearful for her sick king, sent her faithful and underappreciated, strong-but-a-sideshow sister out on a quest for help. For magic, if she was following the story she set up. But she supposed that was cruel; she had offered to leave, and it looked like the queen was bereft any king at all, if the rumors about what happened last year were anywhere near true.

Other-Olivia jogged up the steps of the federal building, presented the appropriate identification, and asked a deputy to show her where Agent Broyles office was. The deputy regarded her confusedly, but sent her in the right direction. She was almost home free when a semi-familiar voice stopped her.

"Hey, Liv!" Charlie, sans scar, looking not quite as happy as her own Charlie, walked up to her.

"Great!" Olivia improvised. "You can come too."

He followed while she knocked and walked into to the supervisor's office.

Olivia stared awkwardly at Broyles from across his desk, and he stared back, eyebrows raised, waiting for her to say something. Awkwardly she started with a knee-jerk reaction. "Hi. Olivia Dunham," she introduced.

"Yes, we've met." Broyles looked intensely amused.

"No, actually." His eyes grew concerned as she continued. "We haven't."

-

Wrangling Broyles was easier than she had imagined, but Walter was a whole other story. She knew she had to try and push her anger with him aside; she knew that this was Peter's only hope at waking up again – if she knew John's style at all, this would end up being absolutely _horrendous_.

Forgetting the past wasn't an option, but ignoring it was good enough, for the time being.

For an instant, she felt sorry for the guy. The son he had was dead; the son he went to inter-dimensional lengths to steal was sick and stuck. The madness within him must've reacted in the extreme. But Dunham really couldn't focus on that for long.

She didn't stop, like Peter would, to think of the affect that going back to the other side would have on Walter. She didn't consider that Walter might be afraid of what he'd see there, like Peter would assume. She didn't think of the consequences – she just thought of getting home.

-

When Olivia saw her own team brushing through the warehouse, she almost crumbled in relief. Broyles, Walter, and Astrid – she had never liked any of them more.

Walter, strangely, got straight to work. Often he called on either version of Asteroid (both of which had acclimating to seeing each other surprisingly quickly) for assistance, but it seemed when Peter was in trouble the insanity was repressed. Olivia was grateful.

Also, Olivia was grateful to her other. That couldn't have been easy for her, she imagined, leaving behind the man she had searched for, waited for, for years of her life to abet her opposition. And suddenly, Olivia realized what she had to do. It was only fair. No matter how much it pained her, and no matter how much she would admit to later, she would give him up to her. She surrendered, as long as he was safe.

She hadn't realized she cared that much. But she guessed that life-threatening situations led to these kinds of desperate emissions. Just like the movies.

Astrid – her Astrid, she was pretty sure – came up to her as she decided this.

"Walter's done it. He's figured out what Peter was dosed with."

"Treatment?"

"Simple: Walter's own modified saline solution. Although he says that if it had been an ounce more he would have needed a blood transfusion."

Olivia sighed, weak with relief, sad because this was the end. She would stay until he woke up – she would not miss that – but after she would disappear.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: At least one more chapter planned after this. Thanks for the reviews! :)

* * *

He felt fear, anxiety, hopelessness, worry, but it wasn't his; it couldn't be. Peter himself, in fact, felt vaguely happy. There was a hand in his, and no impending doom. No stress. But as he grew more awake, the foreign feelings intensified, double, tripled, until he was smothered in them. The room was full.

Yes, full of feeling and emotion, but also full of people. He could sense it. He opened his eyes.

First thing he saw was her, and relief pooled through him. But it belonged to her; that was evident now. With her hand in his she came off stronger. But Olivia being Olivia, she always came off stronger.

"I feel you."

Confusion flickered through her, tinted the relief. "That's nice."

He took a look around. Sheepishly, he leaned toward her. "Olivia, they multiplied."

She laughed a little.

"Diplopia," Walter muttered, tears in his eyes.

"Yes, Walter," Peter said with a smile. "Double vision."

"Hello, son."

"Hello, Walter."

Olivia smiled.

-

"It's pretty simple actually. You're a sort of…modified empath. You can feel other people's emotions emanating from them. They seep into you. You once described it as everyone dousing you with their own brand of perfume – 'it'll take ages to wash out the stink.'"

"Tell me – how old was I when I said that?"

Other-Olivia laughed. "About six."

Olivia merely smiled. He was starting to sound like himself again. It'd be time to leave soon.

"Anyway, it's only the emotions they're feeling at that moment. And it's stronger if you're touching. If it's particularly strong, you might get glimpses – brief visions of a memory. Also…if you try practice, eventually you'll be able to…reflect certain emotions onto others." Other-Olivia went on to explain.

"Oh, I can already do that."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah. Yes, I have done that before."

Olivia stiffened.

"That's strangely incredible," she marveled. She had a brightness about her when she was talking to him, a glow that radiated happiness.

Olivia couldn't take it. She excused herself.

-

Other-Olivia sighed, watching her go.

"What?"

"I know her – because I am her. She's not taking this well." She bit her lip.

"What's wrong?"

She caught his protectionism and smiled limply. "Something happened while you were unconscious and she's worried about it. But, it's no big deal."

"What happened?"

"It's no big deal." But her lie was getting her nowhere, what with his newfound ability. "Well…first of all, we had to restart your heart."

He stuttered confusedly for a moment. They had forgotten to mention _that_ little tidbit. "You mean, the pills—"

"Oh, no. Actually, you reacted to the drug a lot better than the last few people."

"How is that possible?! I _died_."

"Yeah, well, you woke up!"

But he wasn't accepting her distraction technique. "What happened?"

She didn't want to answer, and when he surveyed the room closely he realized one person was missing, and that his Olivia had a cut on her forehead, half-healed. He waved her over to his side again.

"What happened?" He reached out and turned her face lightly, inspecting the cut above her brow. She tried not to convey any emotion; he tried to ignore the swell of fright and lust that washed from her to him through his fingertips. When she didn't answer his question, he tried a new one: "What did you do to him?"

"He switched the sedative," Other-Olivia blurted. Olivia shot her a look.

"What happened?" He was getting frustrated with the repetition.

Both Olivias' seraph faces were resolute. "There was an accident."

"He had to go to the hospital."

"You don't have to worry about it."

And that's all they would say on the manner.

-

"I'm taking Agent Farnsworth and Dr. Bishop back to our side." Broyles informed Olivia. She had been begrudgingly pulled away from Peter's bedside.

"Okay."

She kept her eyes down. She knew she was in trouble.

"You really should have told somebody what had happened." He took a surprisingly benign approach, almost friendly, if the boss could ever be called that.

"Yes, sir."

"I know you…need answers. But that doesn't excuse protocol."

"Yes, sir."

Broyles rolled his eyes, giving up. "You know…dating between partners is strictly forbidden in DHS policy."

If possible, she grew more stiff, exponentially more professional. "Technically I'm still FBI, sir."

He smiled. "It's against FBI policy too." She didn't answer. Broyles didn't realize he'd said the exact wrong thing; instead, he continued. "Peter Bishop is not your partner."

Her eyes grew larger than either of them thought possible. "What are you saying?"

"I'm not telling you to grab him and elope to Cancun," he backpedaled embarrassedly. "But, he makes you smile, Dunham. That should count for something."

-

Backup was long gone. Even though her original excuse was now moot, Olivia went to go visit John.

She wasn't sure what she wanted to find there, only that Peter's black smile was hurt and surprised and that she had turned her back on it, leaving him with _her_. That was not her first mistake of the day, but that was the most obvious.

When she walked into his hospital room he was awake, only his face uncovered, where the burn was thankfully not as bad. Every other inch was covered in cool white. He looked like a mental patient. But then again, he was one.

"Hi," she greeted tonelessly. She didn't really know what tone to give it.

"I'm sorry," he rasped. "I can't tell…"

"No," she understood, "I'm not—I didn't do that…"

He nodded slowly. They watched each other a moment, not quite sure what to say, having never been properly introduced and yet knowing each other so well. It was disturbing.

"I know what he did to you. What _I_ did."

She didn't speak. She didn't move.

"I don't know him, I guess, but I think he'd want me to tell you that he's sorry."

She didn't know if this was a trick or sincere, because apparently both those expressions had always looked the same, and she had been too naïve to see it.

And suddenly, she missed him so bad the force almost sent her to her knees. But the flame was short lived – in both senses of the word – so she tried to calm herself.

"Maybe…" She was grasping at something she had thought she wanted all year, something she lost but still longed for. She had been completely in the right to do so, but that time was over, and the suggestion fell flat.

He wouldn't have accepted anyway. "No. She lives by those psychics, as crazy as it sounds. She trusts them, and they're…they are right a lot of the time. Especially concerning her—you. You are supposed to be with him. That's the way it is. For the best."

She nodded.

"Besides, she's sending me to jail for this, most definitely."

She smiled weakly at the half-joke.

She wasn't going to get her old life back. It was too late now. But she supposed she had gotten what she came for—a resolution.

-

When she returned to the warehouse, the first thing she noticed was that it was curiously _empty._ The clan of Others had picked up and disappeared, leaving Peter behind, waiting for her. He sat in the chair she had occupied all through his trying night.

This made her Peter-leaving plans kind of moot, in a way with which she wasn't entirely comfortable.

So there it was: Other-Olivia had chosen her copy's fate for her. Olivia wasn't sure if she should be appreciative or angry. She chose neither.

"Where did everyone go?"

Peter shrugged. She took a moment to survey him: he looked changed. He was pale, slightly sick still, a little unsteady. But his eyes were somehow brighter and deeper, and his hands twitched often, like he wanted to reach up and feel her again, always.

He handed Olivia a letter. "It's from her." She took it, careful to not let her fingers brush his. She didn't want him to feel this anymore than he had to.

"Are you ready to go?" He asked.

She smiled. "Like you wouldn't imagine."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This is it. I hope you've enjoyed our time together. :)

* * *

_Dear Olivia,_

_I know this is wrong. I know it feels like it shouldn't go down like this. I know you feel like the only person in your world without any answers—and frankly, that could be the case—but you have to stick with it. _I_ am asking you to. Whether anyone believes me or not, I know that you are the key to salvaging any part of your side to remain when the war concludes (if it ever does), not to mention fighting in the actual war itself. I also know that Peter has to be by your side while you do this. In more ways than one. _

-

He held her hand again on the train; he kissed her cheek before pushing her through the other side. He laughed and joked and acted like they were more than they were. Like she was what he wanted.

But Olivia wasn't sure that he knew what he wanted.

-

_You don't have to worry about that part of this predicament. I've left him here for you, a show of good faith, because I know you were ready to leave him behind. That is the absolute wrong thing to do, you insane woman, so stop thinking about it. Don't play the What-If Game. You'll go prematurely gray._

-

He was laughing and joking because she seemed so distraught; he held her hand because he wanted to know what she was feeling—one part curiosity, one part compassion. He kissed her face because it was the most fun way to gauge her current status. Unfortunately he was learning that unless it was a strong enough emotion, he had no idea _why_ anyone felt anything. Philosophical as that was, he didn't stop trying.

-

_You have no reason to trust me and every reason not to. I know that. Despite that fact, you are going to look for us. We won't be found without our consent; we're just too good at our jobs. We'll stay in contact though. I know how insatiable for the truth we are._

_So don't worry about him and me and you. It's okay. I know you get to keep him. I know you would have made the sacrifice if I had let you. We both would. But this is bigger than us. Just like this whole never-ending saga._

_Yours, _

_Olivia_

-

Olivia finished reading the letter and cringed. How she was going to fit this self-incriminating evidence into her official report, she didn't know. She leaned back against her couch and uncharacteristically thanked God that her sister and niece were gone for the next week. She had dropped the younger Bishop off at his hotel without so much as a hard, quiet goodbye and a movement her mouth made that no sane person would call a smile.

She felt bad; she knew that she had been given an opportunity on more than one level but she couldn't seem to get around the massive part of her yelling "stop, you idiot! What the hell is _wrong_ with you? How could you even _consider_ doing this again?"

The whole of her was a massive schism; the two different opinions were shouting just loud enough to be heard by themselves and not each other. But of course, she heard them all.

She at least needed to talk to him, and she whispered the plan to both halves, who went on like she wasn't there. She quickly donned her coat and pulled open the door to find the conflict in question, arm outstretched, ready to knock on her door.

"Peter," she greeted. Serendipity and Fate were shoving him at her.

"Hi."

She could tell he didn't really know what to say or why he was there. She led him inside.

-

His cosmic connection to Olivia Dunham rang out too loud for him to concentrate on anything else, so he had dashed down to her place. He didn't know what he would do when he got there, or even if she wanted him there; he had a feeling that he was the problem.

To him, there was no doubt about where he was supposed to be. He hadn't been a part of that other world for a long time now. When he'd crossed over, it hadn't felt like home. This side, with this Walter and this Olivia was where he was supposed to be.

She didn't seem so sure.

They sat down. "How about you tell me what really happened?"

And the whole story comes spilling out – water gushing from a broken dam. Potential secrets to kinetic sharing. She needed this, and he obliged her release.

When she got to the part about John, he watched her choke. He watched her struggle. He, selfishly, wanted her to get through this, over this, out.

"I told her to stop. I couldn't watch her do that to him." The words were coughed up, and quite offended at such a presentation. "I don't know how it could still be possible, that I could…"

He got the gist.

"I…I don't want to anymore. I truly don't; I want this whole thing to be over. I don't want to think about him anymore."

Peter couldn't look at her anymore.

"I'm mad as hell," she confessed. "I mean, how could he do that to you? He doesn't even know you."

"Yes," he laughed, toneless, colorless. "But he loves her—you. And she loves…"

But he couldn't finish. There's that maddening square again; he never ran in circles, only squares. Sharp, ninety-degree angles were his calling. He was tired of it. He needed his answer now; he felt he was owed.

He leaned in close—maybe a centimeter away this time. "Do you mind?"

"No." That was the truth. "I don't mind." And she knew it was going to be – if not already – his favorite way of gauging her emotions; hell, it was her favorite too.

He closed the distance. She felt the familiar warmth of kissing Peter Bishop wash over her, as well as something extra. He was pushing his ability again, trying to make her feel comfortable for a moment. Clarity: he thought she didn't want to kiss him. At least not as much as…

She sighed, partly from pleasure and partly from exasperation. She needed to set him straight.

Olivia Dunham took her emotions out of their home, their tightly sealed box, and let them explore her. She let him explore her. Suddenly she knew Peter could feel it; he could feel everything she'd been hiding from the world: fear, doubt, panic, grief. And love. Love for Rachel and Ella, a smidge that was receding for John. And some for him.

He shifted gears upon reception – everything was more passionate and more frenzied and a little more sane. The liberation of knowledge transformed them into one: two bodies, two brains, one heart.

Potential to kinetic.


End file.
